


Catching Up to Do

by TheNarcolepticOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarcolepticOne/pseuds/TheNarcolepticOne
Summary: An evaluation of crime and confusing circumstances. Based uponHeart and Handsby O. Henry.
Kudos: 2





	Catching Up to Do

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. It’s been like 30 years since I’ve been able to write for this fandom again. I’m going to try to come back to it with a mix of other fandoms too. 
> 
> For context, this fic was written almost 3 years ago and I’m going to resurface it now because I’d like to return back a little into this community. Apologies if my writing here is inconsistent with my current writings. There’s no beta for this, so if there’s mistakes, that’s just me.
> 
> Based upon the story by O. Henry, _Heart and Hands_.

The distant hillsides alongside the view of the train was a continued stream of undulating green. It had sparse patches of various wild flowers of various colors decorating the field like sprinkles upon sweets. It was a scene that mimicked that of an undiscovered land, touched by nothing else but the hand of nature and her animals.

However, as soon as the train made another sharp turn, it didn’t take long to cut to something contrastingly manmade. Arthur’s gaze turned instead to the large, grey, and weathered building that was starting to come into view.

It was clearly the prison, obviously marked by its cement wall surrounding the perimeter; the bland amid the colorful field surrounding it. It was likely that even the birds avoided it too.

Arthur knew the location well. The Roswell Penitentiary. Or “The Pen” as it was affectionately called. It’s considered to be one of the most successful correctional centers globally, yet still containing a curious mystery behind it due to the lack of broadcasting even allowed to the general public.

It’s the kind of environment that wasn’t anything new to Arthur either. He frequented many business trips that often stopped around the neighboring towns, and he was familiar with the ‘hush hush’ atmosphere. And even despite the tense air that often radiated around the crowds waiting for the train, Arthur honestly thought that the secrecy was relaxing in its own way. It’s because everyone used the “if it doesn’t involve you, you don’t get to talk about it” excuse. And if anyone decided to ignore that unwritten rule, the train security would make it a very uncomfortable 3 hour ride.

Darkness suddenly obscured Arthur’s vision without warning. A tunnel. The nature that was previously displayed was now replaced with the reflection of his own exhausted countenance. Without much energy to think, he sighed and closed his eyes briefly, trying to collect himself. Arthur leaned back in his chair, eventually choosing to stare forward at the few empty seats in front of him. 

He had missed breakfast today after unhappily deciding that the outrageously long queue of people in front of the pastry shop outside the station was less important to the even longer queue of a ticket line for boarding passes. And Arthur, ever the winner, chose his options logically rather than practically on an empty stomach.

The stunt had earned him a comfortable place inside of the cabin, but came at the cost of a violently groaning stomach and a mild headache. Arthur prayed that the food cars would open soon.

“Well, well. Someone’s hungry.”

Arthur didn’t turn his head to see who spoke, feeling himself instinctively grab his stomach. He was too hungry to really be embarrassed and frankly, to really care about being polite in the first place.

“...what’s it to you?”

From the reflection on the glass, he saw two figures enter before plopping themselves into the empty seats in front of him. With effort, Arthur turned his gaze to meet them to try and at least pretend to be friendly.

Of the two men, one laughed lightly at him, which Arthur easily identified as the voice who was heard earlier, while the other just rolled his eyes. And it was only in that moment that Arthur felt his energy somewhat restored by the surprise of who he recognized.

“...Alfred?”

The man in question also had his eyes widen at the mentioning of the name.

“...Arthur? Is that… ?” Alfred’s smile widened as he then began to nudge his companion next to him, pointing in Arthur’s general direction. “Hey, I know this guy!”

“Well ain’t that obvious.”

The other man next to Alfred, a darker skinned fellow with auburn hair, gave a look of distaste before instantly fixing his expression to that of something entirely rehearsed and polite; a smile that was indecipherable to read, but caring. He shook Arthur’s hand. Arthur tried to smile back. Weird.

“... call me Allen. Allen Fredrick. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arthur.”

Arthur tensed. “Pleasure.”

“Look, now you’ve made him feel awkward. Good job, Mr. Extrovert.” Alfred immediately retorted. 

“Hey, I’m just tryin’ to be polite is all.”

“Listen,”

It wasn’t long before Arthur became the unannounced spectator to the two men bickering. Sighing, Arthur fell back into his chair again, headache creeping back again.

From their colorful vocabulary, Arthur guessed that they were perhaps some definition of friends, though he wasn’t quite sure how to classify how this relationship was at all.

When they turned their attention back to Arthur, he smiled back to hopefully conceal his thoughts.

“Well anyway. Either way, I’m getting off on the wrong foot here. My apologies.”

Without warning, Allen stuck his hand right out in front of Arthur in expectant handshake. Arthur took it carefully, but as he went to glance at Alfred, he soon discovered an odd observation. And it took another a minute of staring before Arthur finally noticed the details.

Alfred Jones was dressed in formal attire, indicative of some ounce of wealth, or at the very least, well informed of the higher end markets of fashion. Next to him, Allen Frederick was wearing something less flashy; a simple brown leather jacket zipped up with a pair of used jeans and boots. More contrasts, Arthur noted. But at the same time, he then finally turned his attention to their wrists.

The men were handcuffed together.

“... hmm.”

Alfred, after flipping off Allen with his free hand, followed Arthur’s gaze when he saw him staring at the cuffs.

“Hey, hey,” Alfred reassured almost suddenly. “Now I know what you’re thinking. But that’s there for safety reasons.”

“Safety reasons?” Arthur said incredulously, but no doubt feeling some anxiety elevate. “You make it sound as if it’s dangerous to be with you two.”

“No use in hiding that,” Allen said with a sigh. “Your friend Alfred here’s going to serve his time. I’m just the chaperone cop along for the ride.”

“What the hell do you mean  _me_?”  Jones snapped, suddenly stacking his annoyance to the other man handcuffed to him. “Stop tryin’ to lie. The Pen was made for liars, if you don’t already know

Allen rolled his eyes. “I’m not lying. It’s you who is the chronic liar, Alfred. And on top of that, you can’t just tell everyone we’re going to the Pen.”

“Yeah, but you’re telling Arthur.”

“He guessed. That’s different.”

“Shut up. That’s not that fucking different.”

“ _Alright. That’s enough_.”  interrupted Arthur finally. “Wait here.” 

His brain was throbbing much worse with the noise and in an attempt to shut them up himself, he waved his hands frantically in front of them in order to get them to look in his direction. And before he said anything else, Arthur stood up and approached the entrance to the next car, nearly slammed the cabin doors. The last thing that he needed was someone walking in on them talking about something apparently classified.

The two hand cuffed men looked to each other in mild confusion like children after being scolded. The Englishman eventually returned with a sandwich in one hand, and after sitting back in his old spot and munching on a few bites, Arthur continued to speak his mind.

“We’re not  _ alone  _ on this train, alright?” Arthur grumbled to the two. “Classified or not, I get it. You’re both going to the Pen. _The_ Pen.” Arthur clicked his tongue as he shifted his eyes to the side to make sure no one looked like they were eavesdropping. “Frankly, I don’t want to be here if the two of you are just going to be galavanting around telling that to everyone. I would very much not like to have any interactions with the train police this late in the morning, thank you very much.”

Allen blinked before scowling. “Everyone? Do you see  _ me  _ throwing announcements left and right about putting Jones in the Pen?”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “He might as well be. The shit eating grin he’s got on him is almost like a neon billboard sign. ‘Hey everyone! I’m going to the Pen today! Make sure you stop by and visit the gift shop on the way there’!”

“Alright, alright, Al. Can you stop the prisoner joke? It’s really getting annoying now.”

“What joke? Because last I checked, you’re not a clean slate yourself.”

“You can’t just accuse me of being a criminal like you without evidence, you asshole.”

“Alright,” Arthur interrupted. “So. Since it seems we’re still talking about this, at least humor me. What’s the crime?”

“Counterfeit,” said Alfred immediately, locking eyes with Allen. “Isn’t that right?”

“Hey,  _ hey _ ,” complained Allen, expression hardening. “I said to stop throwing accusations. Just because I didn’t put a $20 in the donations box in church or something doesn’t mean that it carries on to something like counterfeit.”

Arthur frowned, even more confused. “So… then are you saying that Jones is the one who’s supposed to go to jail?”

“Aww, don’t call me Jones. Just call me Al.”

“Al,” corrected Arthur, leaning back against the door of the cabin. “So that means you’d be the one going to jail for counterfeit.”

Alfred put his freehand on his chest with dramatic eyebrow raises at Arthur. “No fucking way. Why would I--”

“I told you so,” exclaimed Allen just afterward, half exasperated and half relieved. “And I bet that suit isn’t even real Versace. Counterfeiter.”

“ _Shh!_ ”  hushed Arthur again, glancing around the cabin to make sure no one was overhearing. Unfortunately enough, Arthur met the gaze of the old lady who had happened to be staring at their shouting match. Arthur gave a sheepish smile, patiently watching her leave toward the food cabin before looking at the two again. Arthur sat back down before nearly putting his forehead to the flat of his sandwich. 

“You doing okay?” Alfred asked after a minute of Arthur pinching the space between his brows.

“I’ve not seen you since U, Alfred. I was at least hoping to talk to you about what’s been going on in your life, but it seems now I’m focusing on if you’re even an officer of the law or, as Allen says, a counterfeiter.”

Allen and Alfred gave each other a look, but not before Allen himself got up to stand, forcing Alfred with him.

“Well. I suppose we shouldn’t be bothering civilians about private matters like this. Alfred? You coming?”

“I’m coming,” Alfred murmured quietly. He gave Arthur an unforgettable look: as if he was meaning to say something important.

“Hey, uh. Arthur,” he said quietly to him as Allen was picking up his coat. “It was nice seeing you. Seriously.”

“Likewise.”

Arthur watched as the two of them went in the direction of the bistro car, stepping out and heading down the hallway. And even though he wasn’t entirely certain if his stop was soon coming or had already passed, Arthur took a minute to drown himself in the nature of the outside once more.

“That’s a shame,” he heard a lady murmur. “They’re such eccentric young men too. I’m sad that the suited one will be turned in. He’s got a lot of potential, but maybe he’s invested it in all the wrong reasons.”

“The one in the suit? What makes you think he’s the criminal? He’s too well dressed to be one! Hell if I could even afford a suit like that for my own son.”

“It’s the handcuffs dear. Have you ever heard of a policeman handcuffing a criminal to his right hand? No. And I’m not sure I’d trust him either, even if he is a bit of a looker.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Arthur exhaled sharply, decidedly ignoring the conclusion as he then stood up to leave for his stop.

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally written September 30, 2017. Re-edited August 30, 2020._


End file.
